A Rose By Any Other Name
by spiceandnice
Summary: A short but sweet DB Valentine's story. Please read and review! [AU]


**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Ugly Betty,_ although I wish I did. Thus, I have no formal connection to ABC, Silent H Productions, or anybody/anything else in connection with the show. I am but a humble, devoted viewer. In addition, the poem "The Rose Family" is by Robert Frost.

**Author's Note: **I have had a few people ask me if I would write a Daniel/Betty story. So this is my Valentine's Day gift to them. Please give feedback letting me know how you liked it—if the reviews are mostly positive, I may contemplate writing a longer D/B fic in addition to my H/B story. Many thanks in advance and happy reading!

-:-:-:-

The light, lilac-scented air ushered him in, its breeze sweeping soft kisses across his cheeks. Around him the sun danced happily, frolicking off petals, illuminating their vibrancy upon the whitewashed walls of the tiny florist boutique. The ambience entranced and awed, and Daniel stood there mesmerized.

Uncertainly, he padded his way around, afraid to wake the sleeping buds before they were meant to bloom. A bouquet in the back proved grounds for pause, its subtle fragrance enshrouding him in memories. Tenderly, he caressed each leaf as if he were holding a child's hand, the fuzz of its palms tickling his own.

He remembered this smell. It was the scent of happier times, in fact, his happiest. When he was young, before his brother Alex and he had begun primary school, they would spend their times running away from the nanny and through the halls of Meade Manor. He was always trying to catch up to his older brother, pumping his legs in winded desperation. But it often proved to be in vain, and Daniel would find himself with skinned knees. His mother would brush into the room in rage, cursing at the nanny for failing in her duties. And, in an uncharacteristic move, she embraced her son in a hug. He would latch onto her, burying his face in her neck, taking deep breaths of her perfume. The sweet nectar would calm him, and with a soft pat on the back, Claire would let go and disappear as quickly as she had come.

"_Convallaria majalis_, an excellent choice."

Despite its dulcet tone, the voice startled Daniel, breaking his reverie. Rising slowly, he turned to face a tiny, slender woman staring back, her eyes dancing with laughter.

"I'm sorry…"

"The flowers, Lily of the Valley."

"Oh, of course," he replied, smiling crookedly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The shopkeeper's grin grew wider at his apparent discomfort. Though she would never admit it to him, she knew who he was. He was Daniel Meade, known ladies' man. She could tell why, too. He was dressed immaculately from head to toe in the finest cashmere suit she had ever laid eyes upon, and his smile only helped enhance his features. So, to see him before her fumbling around like a 13-year old boy about to get his first kiss, it was not only a surprise but unexpectedly endearing.

"May I help you find something?"

"Actually, that would be great," he replied, exhaling a sigh of relief, "I'm hopeless at this. It's really funny, actually. I probably have sent more flowers than any other man in Manhattan, but this is my first time at an actual store."

The woman cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I usually just have my receptionist do it for me," he explained, flustered by his candidness, "but I wanted to do this one in person. It's important."

"Ah, for that special someone," the florist inquired, nodding her head knowingly.

"No, just a friend. But she is pretty exceptional."

In unison, the two paced the shop, stopping to allow Daniel to admire the beauty of each flower and graze each stem. In amazed silence, the shopkeeper observed the tender way he thumbed each plant, lost in his thoughts of the woman he was working so hard to please.

"How about these," he said suddenly, stopping in front of a basket of carnations, "These are pretty, and yellow is supposed to symbolize friendship, right?"

"Actually, Sir, yellow carnations are given as a sign of rejection," she replied gently.

"Really? Well…," Daniel began, spinning around to find another option, "what about marigolds? My mother loves these."

"Well then, if the flowers are for your mother, I'd go with them," the florist stated, tentatively, almost shrinking away.

"And if they aren't?"

"They mean jealousy and cruelty."

"Yeah, that sounds like Mom to me."

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Daniel absentmindedly ran his hand through his hair. Furrowing his brow, determined to get it right the third time, he scoured the shop for something that spoke to him.

"Okay, I think I have it this time. How about hydrangeas," he inquired, reading the tag.

The shopkeeper winced, hesitant to give her answer. She could sense the hope in voice, and she hated to disappoint the young man.

"Heartlessness and frigidity, Sir."

"Arrrrrrrrgh!" Daniel threw his hands up in disgust, slumping down on a nearby bench. Muttering to himself, he cursed at his stupidity. Feeling himself beginning to lose his composure, he breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and losing himself to the sweet, forgiving aroma around him.

"Maybe this was a bad idea. I'm sorry; I'm not good at this type of stuff. I was raised in a world where flowers were either centerpieces or apologies. And I grew up to be the type of man who used them as bargaining chips for seduction or forgiveness."

Feeling her maternal instincts kick in, the elderly florist shuffled to sit next to him. Grabbing his hands away from his face, she held them in hers and gave them a reassuring pat.

"It'll be all right, dear. It's evident you care a lot about this, and that's all that matters. I'll help you find the perfect match, I promise. What exactly do you want to tell this girl?"

"EVERYTHING. I want to say everything. I want to say thank you for being there for me, for making me a better person, for teaching me, for growing with me…just everything. Everything that is good and pure and meaningful; I want to say that."

The air was still and silent, reverberating from his heartfelt cry.

"Oh…and Happy Valentine's Day."

Still slightly shocked from her customer's passionate declaration, the shopkeeper managed only a thin smile.

"I don't suppose you have anything that says all that," he joked, laughing nervously.

This time, the smile reached all the way to her eyes.

"Actually, I do."

-:-:-:-

It was nearly 7 o'clock. Valentine's Day at Mode was drawing to an uneventful close.

He had heard nothing about his gift to Betty all day. Not a single word.

_She must have seen it_, he thought. He had placed a single, long stemmed, orange rose across her keyboard. Depth hidden in its simplicity, it signified his sincere celebration of her energy, his fascination and gratitude, and their beginning.

He knew that most likely, she would not think much of the flower, being ignorant of the story its petals told. And so he had included a poem which he had hoped would be more explanatory.

"Daniel, it's past seven. Do you mind if I head out? I kind of have plans…"

Daniel looked up from his desk to see Betty peeking around his office entryway. He had let everybody else go early, letting them primp and prepare for their holiday festivities. Everybody but Betty. He knew it was childish, but he had hoped to get her alone so he could find out what she thought of his present.

"Um, yeah, of course, sorry. Anything you need to tell me before you go?"

"I set up an appointment with the La Perla advertisers for next week. Retouch is still working on the photos from the Salma Hayek spread, so the Book is not going to be complete. And your father wants to meet with you tomorrow first thing."

"Anything else," he encouraged, rising from his desk and coming around.

"No, I think that's that it."

Daniel felt his spirits drop.

"Oh. Then, yeah, you can go."

As soon as Betty was out of sight, Daniel allowed him to show his disappointment, his shoulders drooping in defeat. Sighing sadly, he made his way back to his desk to begin a late night's work.

"Daniel?"

Before he had even turned around completely, Betty had boldly embraced him in a hug. Taken aback by her forwardness, it took him a moment to return the gesture.

"Thank you for the rose. And the card. It means a lot," she said softly, releasing her boss somewhat embarrassed.

He couldn't help but smile.

"You're welcome."

"It's the first time I've ever gotten a rose."

"Really," Daniel asked, incredulously.

"Hilda always got the roses. I got the chocolates."

"Walter should have given you roses."

"I didn't mind, really. It made sense—my thighs were already big enough you couldn't tell if they got any bigger," Betty joked, choking on the punch line, revealing the hurt that hid inside.

"Betty…"

"Anyway," she restarted, stepping back and wiping the tears from her cheek, "I just wanted to thank you for making me feel…beautiful. It's been a really long time."

Her smile through her tears was all the reward Daniel had hoped for. Standing before him was not the innocent, awkward girl who had started with him. Standing before him was an evolving woman, and to think he had played a small part in her current transition was the best Valentine's Day gift he could have received.

"Well, it's the least I could do. I figure I owed you."

The room filled with hushed laughter. With one last affectionate glance, Betty gathered her belongings.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Daniel."

With a gentle hand on her back, he guided her out the door and saw her to the elevator. The floor was suddenly quiet, and he felt an overcoming wave of calm and content come over himself.

Sitting down, letting the weight of the day float off his shoulders, Daniel couldn't help but laugh at where he was and how life had turned out for him. And most surprisingly of all, he was happy, the result of his assistant.

Amazing things came in the most surprising packages.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Betty."

-:-:-:-

_The rose is a rose,_

_And was always a rose._

_But the theory now goes_

_That an apple's a rose,_

_And the pear is, and so's_

_The plum, I suppose._

_The dear only know_

_What will next prove a rose._

_You, of course, are a rose—_

_But were always a rose._

-:-:-:-

_- Finis -_


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